


Safe Here

by coprolite_blend



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coprolite_blend/pseuds/coprolite_blend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock tries himself with... comforting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Here

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written a long time ago; posting it here since finally I have an AO3 account!
> 
> Unbeta'ed.
> 
> Feedbacks and concrits are love! Ta very much! XD

* * *

 

When his consciousness stirs, the first thing Spock notices is the precipitations on the window of his room.

 _Rain_.

He gingerly pulls himself up, stretching as the cold crawls over his skin, making him clutch the comforter around him tighter. The chronometer on his bedside table lazily blinks the time: _05.26_.

As he is already awake, he opts to do something productive for today, even if it’s less than what he’s used to doing. After straightening his bedcovers, folding the blanket and arranging the pillows on his bed, Spock grooms himself, washing his face, taming his wild hair and changing into black sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. He then goes to the kitchen.

He ignores the replicator, going straight to the cupboards, and prepares his tea. Despite the advances in technology, he has always been fond of preparing his own meal, whenever he has the time, and especially when he’s on Earth. Perhaps that is one legacy his mother has left him (aside from the obvious fact). His most vivid memory of her is seeing her going about the kitchen, making delicacies out of the available Terran equivalent ingredients in Vulcan. Before he can go down to that emotional road, Spock shakes the thoughts away as he starts to organize his meal.

Fifty-two hours, thirty-one minutes has passed since he has set foot on Earth. Twenty-eight hours and thirteen minutes since he’s left the academy grounds to reacquaint himself with his apartment outside the campus. Spock, despite himself, is bored. There is always something to do, but not this time. He should have just procrastinated with his reports and such, but that’s not his nature. Trying not to sigh, he continues on cutting the cucumbers and tomatoes with great precision.

Later, he examines the dining table, satisfied with what he’s done. There is plomeek broth, a bowl of salad, a plate of toasted bread, a bottle of kiwi jam, one cup of tea and another cup of coffee. He glances around, aware of the deafening silence. Perhaps it is time to see how his guest is doing.

He gently knocks on the guestroom door, a tray balanced in one hand. No answer comes, so he tries again. Still nothing, Spock presses the nearby terminal and the door slides open. He’s expected to see his guest lying on the bed, perhaps under the covers, but the sight that greets him is unexpected.

His friend, his Captain, is sitting by the windowsill, watching the rain patters on the glass. His knees are bent, with arms circled around it as he stares outside. He looks younger like this, with hairs sticking in different angles, like a child, without the weight of responsibilities on his shoulders. Spock tries to return his heartbeat to its normal rate.

“Good morning, Jim,” he greets neutrally, entering the room. Jim responds with a small smile on his lips. “I trust you have slept well.”

Jim nods, swinging his legs down to make a room for Spock. “Yeah, best I had in days. ”

Spock sits comfortably, placing the tray in his lap. He hands Jim his mug of coffee and takes his own cup of tea before putting the tray on the floor, just a shy away from his feet.

Jim blows the steaming dark brown liquid, hands carefully curling around the mug. He then takes a sip, lips smacking together as he savors the taste. “This is great!” he exclaims; Spock indulges him with a slight twitch of his mouth. “Hey, maybe when you retire from Starfleet,” he pauses to take another indulgent sip, “you can open your own café. I’ll definitely be one of your regular patrons. I’m gonna be there every morning for cups of this,” Kirk’s voice winks.

“I doubt I will be doing such, Captain,” Spock says, drinking his tea.

Jim chuckles, returning his gaze out of the window.

In the six months they’ve served together in the _Enterprise_ , Spock’s been exposed to the different sides of James T. Kirk. It is true that he can be loud, brash and rude, but he can also be courteous, respectful and kind. He is a capable leader, that much Spock admits, and for him, Jim certainly has earned his rank. Despite their uneasy start, Spock respects the man and has somewhat considered him a friend.

But he’s never seen him so quiet and still like this. It’s different, and honestly, quite an odd sight. Yet, it suits his friend. Somehow.

Spock joins him in looking out the windows. It seems that the rain has not stopped as soon as it started to fall the day before.

There could have been several reasons why _Enterprise_ has been called back to Earth and has its commanding officers personally report to the admiralty. Spock has deduced, however, that it has something to do with their performances with the given missions, especially with the most recent. He cannot fault his Captain on that, even though they’ve lost twenty-two of their crew from the supposedly peaceful gathering.

Jim has told Admiral Pike that it was a trap as soon as the orders came. But orders were orders, so they still proceeded. If Doctor McCoy hadn’t noticed the poison laced into their drinks, they would have all died from slow poisoning. Spock remains puzzled as to how the doctor discovered that, but it is of no import now. As soon as the doctor drew his (concealed) phaser out, things turned into a blur, with them fighting for escape. They’ve managed to, but as soon as Mister Scott had them beamed aboard, three Birds-of-Prey appeared and attacked _Enterprise_. They were successful in fighting the Klingons, but the ship did not leave the battle unscathed.

There was also the fact that some of the crew who had ingested the drink did not respond to the cure. Again, Spock was thankful to Doctor McCoy that he was able find a way to prevent Jim from dying since complications had risen due to the Captain’s allergies.

“You think we can go to the beach while we’re here?” Jim suddenly asks, breaking his thoughts.

Spock turns to his Captain, whose eyes remains focused outside. “Only if the rain stops.”

“Yeah,” Jim softly agrees. “We can go on a picnic and have fun swimming.” Spock doesn’t answer. “Or we can go surfing.” Jim sips his coffee, and then says, “That’s what I’m going to do after the admiralty kicks me out of Starfleet.“

Spock tries not to sigh. “The admiralty will do no such thing, Jim.”

“Oh, they will, just you watch,” Jim laughs bitterly. “Besides, it’d be nice to travel the world. I’ve always wanted to see more of Earth.”

“Then, I shall join you in your travels.”

Finally, Jim looks at him, the rim of the mug resting on his lower lip. “You’re kidding,” he states slowly, blinking.

Avoiding those blue eyes, Spock downs his cooling tea. “Vulcans do not kid.”

The sound of laughter resonates in the room, and Spock thinks this is how his friend should be - happy and carefree.

In two days time, they will be reporting back and they will face the admiralty’s final decision. For now, Spock will continue to indulge his Captain with illogical things, just to keep his mind off unpleasant ones.

 

 **END**


End file.
